


cassian week 2017

by cassandor



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cassian Andor-centric, Cassian Backstory, Character Study, Fest, Gen, POV Cassian Andor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Tumblr Prompt, the coolest and saddest spy in the rebellion whom i love dearly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:17:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11094813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassandor/pseuds/cassandor
Summary: It was a slim hope, fragile as a spider’s web, ready to be swept away at a moment’s notice. They didn’t even have spiders on Fest. It was too cold.





	1. a personality glitch

**Author's Note:**

> my 3 canon-compliant prompt fills for @cassianweek. explores his backstory & relationships with the rebellion, his family, and loyal droid. [there is contradiction for the "Jenoport" event, I now consider the version in Chapter 3 as my personal "canon".]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 17: Favorite Relationship
> 
> I was sitting here debating between rebelcaptain and sniperpilot but then realized: what about Kay! I’ve never written their dynamic before so, here we go!

** i. curiosity.  **

“Cassian.”

Cassian looks away from the view he’d seen countless times to face Kaytuesso. He was still getting used to being addressed by his first name by a droid - one in an Imperial casing, no less. 

“Yes?” 

“How did you join the Rebellion?”

Cassian stiffens. “Why?”

“Well,” Kaytuesso begins, “You’re quite young for a rebel, and the Rebellion appears to not recruit child soldiers, am I correct?”

Cassian nods slowly, insides crawling at the thought of children being whisked away to war.  _Never again,_  he thinks.  _Let me be the last._  

“And I have seen no sign of your parents or any other relatives, whether it be on the base or in your files.” 

Cassian inhales sharply at the thought of his family. He brushes off his reaction as something else: “You have access to my files?” 

“If I said ‘only the documents that require low-level clearance’, I would be lying.” Kaytuesso cocks his head, mechanics whirring. “I am a security droid, you know.” 

“I know,” Cassian replies, eyebrow arched. “That’s why I took you.” The droid looks at him, as if he was wondering whether to take the reply as a compliment. Apparently satisfied, he turns back to the ship’s controls, mapping the route to their destination.

They fall silent, the only sound being the hum of their ship through hyperspace, unanswered question hanging in the space between them.

* * *

  **ii. trust.**

He’s cornered. One wrong turn, hesitating a second too long  – and now only a door and a few seconds’ worth of mad sprinting separated Cassian from half a squad of stormtroopers. 

Sweat beads on his forehead, runs down his neck. What could he do? His eyes dart around the room, considering possible escape routes. He didn’t give have a vibroblade, much less a blaster. He had no clue where he was.   


Suddenly, another door swings open. An Imperial droid – but not _any_ Imperial droid, it’s a familiar KX series:  


“Kaytoo?” Cassian exclaims. “I trusted you to stay with the ship!” 

“You did,” Kaytoo says nonchalantly, “But I thought I’d be more useful here.”

Cassian only pauses for a moment longer – _you can trust him, you know_ – before the banging at the door interrupts his train of thought.

“You have a plan?” Cassian asks.

Kaytoo inclines his head and tosses a blaster towards Cassian. “Of course I do.”

* * *

 

**iii. feelings.**

Cassian staggers his way back to the ship. He stumbles, and decides to rest on a boulder before continuing. 

He sits down, leaning heavily against it for support, breathing ragged and shallow. Some part of his brain registers the blood on his knuckles. He wipes his hands in the dirt. There’s still some under his nails. 

He’s still holding his blaster. He wants to throw it away, far far away, and never pick it up again. Leave it and the memories it carried behind on this Force-forsaken planet, leave it lying beside the bodies he’d taken the life out of. But he couldn’t.

Instead their faces swam in his vision. They’d disappear from his memory soon enough, but the scars would remain. They always do. Haunting him, forever. In the depths of hyperspace, on the walls of his quarters, in the darkness behind his eyelids. 

He deserved it, of course. It was the least he could do. Death still eluded him, so he might as well carry the dead with his every living moment. 

“Cassian?”   


He turns. 

“Kay? What ar-”  


“It was taking you a while to get back, and your transponder showed your location to be fixed at this longitude and latitude.” Kay pauses. “I was worried, so to speak.” Cassian notes the brightness of Kay’s eyes fluctuate, the way they did when he was running a scan.

“Do you require assistance? It seems that you’ve been…” For once, Kay was speechless. “Are you undergoing emotional distress?”  


Startled, Cassian swipes at his face. His fingers come back wet. He’d been crying.

“Cassian… if your continued dignity and service to the Rebellion require that I undergo a memory wipe upon return to the ship, I will gladly do so.” 

“No need,” Cassian quickly replies. “Thank you, Kay.”

“It’s my duty, Cassian.”   


He looks up at the droid and tries to smile.

* * *

**iv. loyalty.**

Kay shouts. “Climb!” He turns up his speakers to full volume. “CLIMB!”  


He’s easy pickings for the troopers, but he keeps firing anyways. If he had nerves instead of wires, exhilaration would’ve flowed through them. Instead they crackle and flare as more and more bolts find their mark. 

Non-vital systems shut down, one by one. He can hear Cassian’s pained cries. “Kay? Kay!”

Humans. Cassian, of all people, was not the type to let personal feelings get in the way of the mission. Apparently his feelings for Kay were strong enough that he might. If he was human, he might’ve felt something at the thought.

“CLIMB!” he urges. Vital processes shutting down. He doesn’t hear if Cassian shouts for his name.   


He hopes they make it. _Hope is irrational._ The statistics don’t lie. They won’t make it.

But the plans will. Kay knows that. With Cassian at the helm, they will. 

_He_ would’ve made it, if it wasn’t for his loyalty programming. 

But was it programming? Or did he _feel_ it?

One more bolt finds the right spot - he wouldn’t find the answer now, because now all he felt, all he ever felt was:

* * *

**v. nothing.**

Can droids become one with the Force? 

Cassian hopes so.

He’ll find out soon, anyways. 


	2. the chill of night, stars so bright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 18: Cassian + Leadership
> 
> it was about time I wrote Cassian’s family (aka the leaders of Fest’s resistance).

The first snowflakes of the blizzard season dust the rooftops laden with ice from the previous night’s storm. The sun had set but one could barely tell the difference with the snow falling so thickly. 

It was not a night for star gazing, but Cassian stays fixed at the windowsill, entranced by the swirling flakes, his breath forming clouds on the glass pane.

There are murmurs coming from the room behind him, and as he keeps both eyes fixed on the view outside, his ears are tuned to the conversation. 

The front door blows open, bringing in a cloud of snow and cold. Cassian hears the all too familiar sound of boots thumping on the tightly woven rug, spilling half melted snow on the floor. He doesn’t turn, instead Cassian keeps his palms pressed against the chilly window. 

There’s a meeting tonight, and all the well-known faces of the resistance are sitting around the fireplace, its glow highlighting their worried features.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Cassian turns to the man who has just walked in. “Didn’t your father tuck you in?” He pauses, idly scratching his beard. “Oh, you snuck up to watch the snow,” he chuckles. “You’d think you would tire of it.”

The man scoops Cassian up, and Cassian takes a moment to adjust before appreciating the view of his home from the man’s shoulders.

 “Jer,” the man’s voice reverberates through his body, “your boy’s up again.” 

“Oh is he?” Cassian can hear the sound of a chair scraping across the floorboards as his father stands up. “I’ll take him.”

There’s the clinking sound of glasses as the man hands Cassian over to his father, who rocks him over his shoulder. Any other child his age would protest at being babied, but Cassian knew such moments of peace were hard to come by. 

Cassian’s father - Jeron - returns to his seat.

“Not taking him back upstairs, are you?” His mother’s voice. 

“No.” Jeron sighs. “We get so little time together.”

Cassian can’t see it - he’s facing the wall - but knows there are solemn nods of agreement around the table. His fingers curl into his father’s fleece sweater, eyelids drooping, the warmth of the fireplace at his back.

“He won’t be any trouble.” Cassian can feel his head nod as if in agreement, sleep beckoning him as his eyes refuse to open. 

A knowing sniff. “You’ve got a smart one there, Jer. A leader in the making. He’d be a fine soldier.” The steady rise and fall of his father’s chest lulls Cassian to sleep, pulling him under.

“I hope he never has to be.” 

“Hope?”

It’s the last snippet of the conversation Cassian hears. 

“Rebellions are built on hope.”


	3. he had nothing more to give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May 19: Cassian + the Rebellion 
> 
> in which I finally write a proper cassian backstory. fic title from "lessons." see notes for potential triggers. my longest fill at this point.

 

 **THE FIRST PERSON CASSIAN ANDOR EVER KILLS,** HE NEVER SEES THE FACE OF.  The stormtrooper is faceless, nameless, and soon lifeless, thanks to seven-year old Cassian’s shaky grip on a discarded blaster. The white armor turns black. The shelled figure collapses, twitches once, and stills. His hands don’t stop shaking. 

He has nightmares of the shelled beings descending on his home planet in relentless waves, and waves, and waves. Countless white figures dotted across the landscape, blending in with the snow. 

Now that he’s killed one, the nightmares will end, the waves will cease. Right? 

No. It has only just begun.

* * *

**HE IS SHAKEN AWAKE** BY THE STRANGER IN THE OPPOSITE BUNK.  Cassian’s hair is plastered to his forehead by sweat, and he clutches the edges of his thin blanket.

“You almost fell off your bunk,” the man says, leaning over him. “I had to wake you up.”

“Sorry.” He sounds young. He is, after all, though he doesn’t feel like it. He clenches and unclenches his fists, realizing how clammy his palms are. 

“It’s alright. Happens to the best of us, and you’re…” The man sighs. 

Cassian shakily nods and the other man returns to his bunk. 

He lies awake, remembering the endless rows of troopers descending upon him. Shot after shot after shot. The pile of bodies grew and grew and yet more sprung up from the darkness. He grew weary, blaster threatening to slip from his grasp, but the waves kept coming, and coming, and coming. Blood on his hands, blood on the ground, blood on white armor, blood on freshly fallen snow…

Somehow, he drifts back to sleep.

* * *

**HE THANKS THE UNIVERSE,** FOR THIS TIME IT IS NOT A NIGHTMARE.  Not a dream, either - Cassian wasn’t worthy of dreams. No, it was a memory. 

A pristine layer of snow covered everything like his warm blanket. Some parts of Fest still hadn’t succumbed to the toxic fumes of the old factories. 

Unlike his mother, who was gone. And now his father was too. Along with everyone he knew, everyone he’d ever known. All dead and gone like the Republic, like the Confederacy. 

There was nothing left for him here.

He stands in the doorway of his parents’ room, trying to etch his childhood home into his memory forever. 

It comes back to him now: small, but in a cozy way. Tightly woven rugs; thick, patched up blankets; the ghosts of aromatic spices hanging in the air. Synthfur gloves tossed on a table. A fireplace, rickety chairs around it: the birthplace of the resistance. Nothing luxurious, not quite poverty. 

The only luxury he’d ever had was family. Now they were gone, leaving him poor in every sense of the word. 

The reality of it all sinks in.

Everything he had ever known is gone.

A different kind of chill settles in his bones, emptiness gnawing its way through his body. He cries. He cries for his parents, he cries for the dead, he cries for all that was lost to the howling northern winds forever. His shoulders shake, his throat dries up, his soul is hollow. 

Why is _he_ still alive? 

The front door swings open, and a newly-familiar voice calls his name. Cassian hurriedly wipes away his tears, wipes his nose. “I’m coming!”

He shivers again, this time from the chill brought by a gust of wind. _I need to bring something with me_ , he thinks. A jacket hangs in his father’s closet and he shrugs it on. It’s far too big but it’s good enough. 

As it settles on his shoulders he’s enveloped by the sensation of warmth and belonging. 

 _Cassian,_ his father says. _We fight for you. We fight so you have a better future. But this fight is bigger than all of us, bigger than me and you and your mother and our families and even all of Fest. It is as big as the universe._ His solemn look is chased away by a smile.  _Do you understand?_

_Yes, pa._

The empty feeling doesn’t go away. (It will never go away. Cassian is forever hollow.) But it no longer feels all-encompassing. It is unimportant now, in the grand scheme of things. There’s a war going on. Why should he care about himself, when there are people to help - to fight for? 

He has to bring hope to the galaxy. 

The transport waits outside, humming with pre-flight preparations. A kind recruiter for the Rebellion. Something about uniting small, fractured resistance groups under one name. She takes one look at Cassian, a tuft of hair peeking out of a monstrously large pile of fabric, and says:

“We should take you to an orphanage.” She frowns a little, not too sure if there was even one they could take him to. 

“No,” he replies, remembering blood splattering across fresh snow. “I want to fight.”

When Cassian wakes up, later, he’s not well-rested. But the desire to fight remains.

* * *

**THE OPEN SQUARE** FILLS WITH BLOOD.  It is rife with civilians pushing and shoving to get their children to safety, to find cover from the crossfire. Stormtroopers calmly file through the crowds, picking off rebel fighters one by one.

It was a nightmare, except Cassian was wide awake. 

He’s a excellent shot for a ten year old, but not yet good enough to find a trooper in his viewfinder with innocents dashing about. Perspiration beads on his forehead. _What can he do?_

He turns at the sound of a child crying - a boy not more than half his age startled by the commotion, lost and alone. Cassian looks up, around, haphazardly fires a few bolts at the nearest troopers, then dives and scoops up the child, lunging for cover behind an abandoned cart.

Only then does he realize how badly he’s shaking. He takes a few deep breaths, tries to steady his breathing. “You’ll be alright,” he murmurs, as much to himself as to the now quiet child pressed to his chest. “You’ll be alright.” 

Cassian suddenly registers a damp warmth seeping through his clothing. Startled, he pulls away from the boy and looks down. His clothes are soaked in red. He touches the fabric, blood staining his fingers.

It wasn’t his. Recognition dawns on him. His head snaps up to the child’s tear-streaked face and he gasps in alarm. The little boy collapses back into Cassian’s arms.

He presses his fingers to the boy’s wrist, leaving bloody fingerprints. A flutter, and then nothing. The boy is dead. 

That night he mistakes the dampness of sweat for a pool of blood. His own, or the boy’s, he can’t tell. He recalls the expression of pure terror on the boy’s face as the square erupted into chaos. He supposes he’s wearing the same expression now, as he stares into the darkness at the accusatory faces watching him. The boy among them. 

 _You killed me, Cassian Andor,_  he sneers, face frozen like stone. _And I will not be the last._

* * *

**CASSIAN AVOIDS HIGH-RISK MISSIONS** FOR AS LONG AS HE CAN,  until one day he finds himself bleeding out on a street corner. 

_How did this happen?_

A betrayal, he figures, or someone had sniffed out Cassian’s true identity. Still, they didn’t know he was with the Rebellion or else they would’ve kept him as a gift for the Empire. Instead, they had (merely) beaten him and dropped him off for dead in the streets. 

If he wasn’t already dead, he would be soon.

It wasn’t a testament to his injuries (though they bled and bled and _bled_ ) but more a testament to the harshness of Jenoport’s streets. It was an Outer Rim planet, desolate and poverty-stricken - disregarded by the Republic ( _oh_ , Cassian could relate) and on the fringes of the Empire’s consciousness. Close enough to bleed dry, unimportant enough for gangsters to grow powerful. 

(Cassian, like most, suspected that the Imperials were more than just _letting_  gangsters run amok. Lining pockets with the blood of the downtrodden was what the Empire did best.) 

And so he bled, praying that death would save him from witnessing what the scavengers would do to his body, or what a particularly revolting fellow might do (scratched up and bloody, he was still _young_ ). He waits, broken transponder clutched in his hand, for the darkness lurking at the edges of his vision to consume him. 

* * *

**CASSIAN HATES THE DARKNESS.** IT SWALLOWS HIM WHOLE.  The shadows of his past slink away in the daylight, biding their time until the sun sets before crawling into his nightmares. 

So he’s relieved to open his eyes to a bright light. Was this his salvation? 

He turns his head and finds himself in an unfamiliar place, as if someone had plucked his childhood home from his memory and scrubbed it bare. A woman’s face looms over him.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Cassian tries to sit up but she pushes him down. “You’ve been out for almost a standard day, my dear. Take your time.”

A day? Panic pulses through his veins. Why hadn’t Kay come to find him, unless - Cassian remembers the broken transponder and curses under his breath. Maybe Kay was in trouble. 

He looks up at the woman and realizes she’d been studying his features closely. 

“Festian, are you?” 

He blinks, not sure how to respond. “Yes?” He suddenly notices how young she is. “How do you know?” 

She gives him a small smile. “One can always recognize one of their own.” 

His heart flutters in his chest. _Do you know my parents?_ he wants to ask. _Jeron Andor, he-_  his thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of an argument outside.

The lady’s eyes flicker to a window. “I’m afraid your stay has been cut short,” she smiles apologetically, handing him a blaster. “I did my best patching you up.”

Cassian sits up, carefully this time. He’s felt better, for sure, but for someone who was quite literally on death’s doorstep… he felt he could take out the troopers down the street. 

If it weren’t for the mission. “Thank you,” he says, with all the genuine gratitude he could muster. Without her, he would be dead and the mission would be a failure. “Not just for the blaster. For everything. For the risk you’re taking.” He stops half-off the bed, suddenly realizing the lady hadn’t bothered to ask what he was doing half-dead on the street. Not that this was new here, but Festians were known for their rebellious tendencies. It was why they were almost wiped out. 

He glances at her, and a smile curls up her face. Oh, she _knew_. Somehow she knew. 

He flinches at the sound of troopers banging at her door, the muffled voices of Imperials looking for someone. _Him_. Cassian looks over at the lady. She could easily turn him in. 

But she doesn’t. “Go,” she urges, pushing him towards a back entrance. A small alcove, neatly tucked away, led to a set of stairs.

“I hope you don’t in any trouble for this,” he offers lamely, glancing back at the small room, one arm pushed against the doorway. It was obvious someone had been cared for there, bloodstained wrappings strewn about and mussed up bedsheets hastily tucked away. 

She gives him an apologetic smile. “I hope so too. Rebellions are built on hope, after all.” 

Cassian is halfway out the door when she says it. _The Festian resistance’s war cry._  He turns but the lady is already gone, presumably to answer the troopers at the door. 

Time to leave.

* * *

**CASSIAN IS ALMOST OUT OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD** WHEN A CHILL RUNS DOWN HIS SPINE. A shrill scream. Laments.

“Rebel _scum_ ,” someone sneers, in the warbled voice of a stormtrooper. 

He freezes in his tracks, conflicted. The mission pushes him forward.

But he _had_ to go back and see if his saviour had gotten into any trouble for him. It was only fair.

Cassian carefully backtracks his way through a series of tightly woven streets and rickety staircases until he gets a clear view of the lady’s home from a neighbour’s roof. He presses his body flat, out of sight, before raising his head _just_ so he can see. His heart lurches into his throat.

Two stormtroopers had dragged her out and pushed her to the ground. Her hands were bound in cuffs, dirt dusted her face. Another set of troopers were going through her belongings, the sound of glass shattering echoing through the alleyways.  

_They knew._

Something sinister slithers up his spine. _This is your fault._ His fingers dig into the dust as guilt sinks its teeth into him. 

 _You must go_. Reason pushes its way through the fog. _The mission. If you get caught, all of this will have been for waste_.

Cassian nods to himself and is about to push himself up when the lady makes eye contact with him. Her eyes widen. (Suddenly, he sees his mother’s eyes, and a question freezes on his lips.)

He curses. Would she give him away?

The two troopers watching her are talking over her, presumably discussing her fate. So they don’t notice her gesture.

Cassian’s eyebrows draw together. _Does she mean…?_ He looks to the blaster gripped in his hands, then at her. She nods.

His heart plummets into his chest.

He can’t. _He can’t_. 

Force, she _did_  look like his mother. 

There’s a loud crash, and the other two stormtroopers exit her home.

“We found a few datachips, and evidence that someone has been in here, but not much else.”

 _Datachips?_ He hadn’t left anything of his behind… so she was more involved in the Rebellion than he had thought. His fingers curl around the blaster, unfamiliar to his touch.

He has to, now.

_Death before Surrender!_

Another scream, the sounds of struggle.

He looks up from the blaster. She’s being dragged into a transport.

__Our bodies for the Force, our lives for the Cause!_  _

_Do it, now!_ Her eyes plead, wide with terror. 

Cassian feels his heart pounding in his chest as he aims. His hands tremble and he can feel his body shake with every breath he takes.

_Steady._

He exhales.

_Blood spilling on fresh snow._

The transport doors slam shut.

He’s too late.

* * *

**HYPERSPACE IS COLD AND UNFORGIVING.** CASSIAN LIKES IT THAT WAY. It’s brutal and honest in the way only darkness is. In the darkness, he can be himself. 

 _You funny little boy,_ the darkness whispers, voice tainted with mirth. _Only I can show you who you_ really _are.  A murderer. A sadist._

He shuffles in his poor excuse of a bed, a mass of blankets pushed against the wall and durasteel cool against his skin, his only comfort the hum of the ship underneath him. He’s sitting on the edge of his bunk, hunched over, turning his borrowed blaster over and over in his hands.

 _You killed me, Cassian Andor,_ the woman’s voice cries out. _And I will not be the last._

For once, he finds solace in the words of the ghosts. _Hopefully_ , she was dead. _Hopefully_ , they hadn’t tortured her for information. _Hopefully,_ she died quickly and painlessly, her life ended by something quicker than his blaster.  _Hopefully_ , she wasn’t tethered to a interrogator droid, cursing Cassian during nights that never ended. 

It was a slim hope, fragile as a spider’s web, ready to be swept away at a moment’s notice. They didn’t even _have_  spiders on Fest. It was too cold. 

 _An unforgiving homeworld for an unforgiving boy,_ the darknesss hisses. _Cold  and harsh, just like you_. 

His grip tightens on the blaster. _Always killing except when it matters. Why didn’t you save her? Why didn’t you save me?_  

The wailing lady’s voice murphs into his mother’s, like a flickering holo _. _Why didn’t you save me, Cassian?__

He lets the accusations flow through him like lava in his veins, doesn’t dodge away from the icy insults hurled at him. __I deserve this, I deserve this. I couldn’t save her. Again._  
_

The darkness has a forked tongue, and its whispers are icy fangs dripping with boiling venom. He gasps, pain flaring up from his injuries, aggravated by the disgust and anger lacing through his body. He tugs at the neckline of his damp shirt with his free hand, as if that would let him breathe.

A hundred voices cheer.  _Our bodies for the Force, our lives for the Cause!_

Why was _he_ alive? 

 _Join us, Cass. I miss you_. 

The mission was a success. ( _Success,_  the darkness spits out with a sneer, venom splattering at his feet. _You call this a success_?) His duty was done. 

_We’re waiting for you._

He sighs, shakily, fingers digging into the bedsheets as the shadows nudge his thoughts. _How would the blaster’s nozzle feel against your temple, Cassian? Cold metal… cool… refreshing… relieving._ _Relief, that’s what you want, isn’t it? Freedom from all this?_ His fingers loosen their grip, palms clammy against the cool metal, and the darkness whispers a suggestion. _Well, what if you pulled the trig-_

“Cassian.” 

It takes years of military training for him not to jump at the droid’s voice. 

“Kay,” Cassian says, half relieved and half confused, sliding the blaster under his sheets. “What are you doing?” 

“Estimated time until arrival is 15 standard hours,” Kay says flatly. “That’s what I came to say. However it seems that,” he cocks his head, optical sensors adjusting to the dim light of the cabin, “you’re in distress.” 

“I- what?” Cassian rubs his eyes, suddenly weary. His hand comes back wet. _Oh._  He can feel the heat rising in his face.

Kay seems to pick up on his train of thought. “I can run a memory wipe, if you require-”

Cassian shakes his head. “No, no. that won’t be needed.”

Kay watches him, unsure. He leans back on his elbows, back against the wall, and sighs. “What is it, Kay?” 

“You have not logged the adequate hours of sleep required for a human male of your age, and that decreases your stamina by appr-”

Cassian waves his hand dismissively. “It’s _alright,_  Kay.” 

Kay makes a sound that somewhat resembles a static-ridden sigh. “How can I be of assistance?”

Cassian doesn’t respond, instead fixes his attention to the blinking lights of the control panel on the opposite wall. His mouth quirks. 

“There are sleep meds in the med kit,” Kay begins. Cassian looks up at him. “I’d have to halve the dosage, based on your age and weight…” The mechanical whirring fills the pause . “Sleeplessness is a common trait among soldiers. Dealing with it was even a part of my Imperial programming.” 

Cassian merely blinks at him in surprise. “Al…right?” 

Kay semi-huffs. “I’ll get the medkit, then.” 

He turns on his heel, leaving Cassian to sit alone in silence, the shadows crushed under Kay’s mechanical feet. 

* * *

**THE MEDS WORK SO WELL,** CASSIAN WILL WORRY ABOUT IT WHEN HE WAKES UP. But now he is sprawled across the bed, blankets twisted around him like a nest. 

“ _Rebellions are built on hope.”_

It is the Festian rallying cry, a gentle reminder that a single flame of hope can cast away the darkest of shadows. He’s heard it so many times the words may be ingrained in every muscle of his heart. 

Today - _in this dream? or memory? -_ the phrase falls from the lips of his father like sparkling fresh snow. He’s sitting on his father’s knee.

But Jeron’s eyes are only on Cassian’s mother. 

“-so don’t _worry,_ Esper. Have faith, be it in the northern wind or in the Force. Justice will always prevail in the end. I have hope.” 

His mother bends into view, and in his sleep Cassian twitches because those eyes _did_ look similar to - 

His mother cups his cheek in the palm of her hand. “I’m just worried about Cass.” 

Cassian laughs a child’s laugh, bright like sunshine on sparkling new snow. “I’ll be fine, ma. As long as you’re with me.”

Those eyes soften with sadness. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Our son is one of the most perceptive souls Fest has given life to,” his father says soothingly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You know what everyone’s been saying about him. He will be fine. Even if we’re gone. _When_  we’re gone. He feels the people’s suffering, Esper. He feels it deeply. And the need to end that suffering will always push him forward no matter what, even long after our bodies freeze over and our souls become one with the Force.”

Esper’s expression shifts from worry to the steady calm Cassian was used to seeing, and she smiles. 

His father sticks a thumb under Cassian’s chin, lifting is face to meet his. “Did you hear that?”

“Yes, pa.” 

“Remember this, always. We fight for you. We fight so you have a better future. But this fight is bigger than all of us, bigger than me and you and your mother and our families and even all of Fest. It is as big as the universe. Do you understand?”

“Yes, pa.” 

Jeron smiles and presses a kiss to his forehead. “That’s my boy.” 

Cassian smiles in his sleep.

* * *

**AND ALL OF A SUDDEN HE’S ON A TRANSPORT,** EXCEPT KAY ISN’T AT THE CONTROLS. It’s a rebel he vaguely recognizes, someone who bridged his childhood with his present. His feet barely touch the ground and his father’s jacket engulfs him.

The tears are still wet on his face. 

“Promise me you’ll keep fighting,” his mother’s ghost begs. “Always.” 

“I will, ma,” Cassian replies, a hiccup stuck in his throat. “I promise.”

A twinge of guilt, now, and the bunk croaks under him as he rolls over. 

_I’m sorry, ma. I won’t forget my promise. Never again._

* * *

**KAY CHECKS IN ON HIM LATER** , THE DROID IS WORRIED. Not that he would admit it. It was an unusual for droids to feel things, Kay muses, but then it was also highly improbable for a boy who was barely in his teen years to take the effort to reprogram a droid like himself. 

If Kay was Cassian, he would’ve fired a few bolts into his circuitry. The probability of old-K2SO killing Cassian was, well, _very_ high. 

But, Cassian was Cassian, and here he is. Kay imitates a sigh. 

So Kay carefully - as careful as a seven foot droid could be - peers at the boy in the bunk. He measures the rate of the rise and fall of Cassian’s chest (appropriate - he wasn’t having a nightmare), approximates the probability of his arm feeling ‘dead’ (as per inaccurate slang) in the morning (very high), notes the unfamiliar blaster discarded carelessly under the bunk (which he puts away to lower risks of unwanted injuries), calculates the best time to wake the boy up and -

 _But what is that?_ Kay turns up his audio input, and listens. 

His voice is muffled by sleep, but it is indeed Cassian:

_I promise._

Kay mentally conjures various scenarios of his either waking Cassian or leaving him alone. He decides to let the boy sleep, thereby accelerating his recovery process, and stores the sound file away for later. Just in case. 

* * *

**A HUNDRED BATTLES AND A THOUSAND LOSSES LATER,** CASSIAN IS STILL FIGHTING.(Or was it a thousand battles and a hundred losses? He couldn’t remember.) 

Fighting the Empire, fighting the darkness. With a blaster, with treatment. (The latter, more grudgingly. But Kay insists, and so does the Chancellor, so Cassian obliges. The pill in his pocket burns a hole through his shoulder, but he knows better, now. It’s hard to shoot troopers when icy demons get in the way.)

After Jenoport, he swears never to leave anything or anyone behind for the Empire. So on Eiloroseint, he kills, and on Chemvau he kills, and here on the Ring of Kafrene, he kills. 

_Everything I did, I did for the Rebellion._

He mourns.

_A cause that was worth it._

But he moves on. 

_I couldn’t forgive myself if I gave up now._

He has to keep fighting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a lot of death, implication of suicide, and cassian's struggle with PTSD.  
> [later expanded and improved into a full fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11112567/chapters/24799989)


End file.
